I read the Tweet, having looked for it first thing, and there is was—Guilty! Ghislaine Maxwell found guilty of all counts save one! It finally felt I had crossed some divide, a path out of the woods. United with the survivors that testified of her horrible abuse, made my abuse more real. The illusions they made up, so constant lately, threatening to destroy what little autonomy I had left.
They had already taken all my material things; my 20yr home, beautiful vacation property on the lake, my beloved dog, a twenty year marriage setup to use and degrade me, and lately the total destruction of my identity. That of successful Graphic Designer, Communications Manager; a professional with a home and vacation property, a successful business, new car, looking forward to retiring after many years of hard-work and sacrifices to “homeless, mentally ill Prostitute”—was harrowing.
Time in the psych ward the worst. I almost didn’t make it out alive. I collapsed one day, possibly another seizure, I had stopped eating—I couldn’t anymore. I had already had a seizure after Secually assaulted by the same group setting this all up! Most of it from having to come to terms with everything in my life destroyed, there wasn’t anything they hadn’t taken, telling me I had been “mentallyill from the start,” I sat as shock after shock descended along with the continual destruction or theft of everything I had along with all the relationships that I thought were abusive, but today know they are deadly. The abuse getting worse over time until the only thing left was my death. It was horrifying, harrowing, and the worst experience of my life. I had no idea and had to piece most of it together myself.
The Doctors assigned to me continued with the accusations I had made up a Sexual Assault that started my report to them upon first being forced to have an “evaluation.” I told them of the Domestic Violence, the current Sexual Assault, but they kept accusing me of having a “Psychotic break.” I knew I was in shock, knew I didn’t know the full extent of what was going on, knew I was being abused, but did not know about being Traumatized, but they did! I think of how awful it was to continually tell them the truth only to have them tell me I was making it all up.
I had “pressured-speech,” they told me. WTF? I thought, my dog had been threatened to be used as bait for dogfighting, I was getting death-threats, and 20yrs of my belongings were being threatened of being “auctioned off,” by my abusive ex-husband, the Adlitem they forced on me and the theft of all my portfolios. Without my portfolios getting work would b next to impossible—no one cared. I had anxiety and time was of the essence about my dog and my things in storage, but no one cared.
When I found out I what “Pressured Speech,” was I was by then, angry, but I still had a ways to go to put it all together. It’s been a truly horrible journey, but each day I get stronger. Some days I’m flying, free of the dark cloud I had felt since I was a child. The breathing down my neck that stalked me as a child—terrified of these men, but forced to b nice, always conciliatory—appeasing. I had learned young to never question my mother, it was too dangerous, her rages and beatings frightening. Other days it’s a step back, sometimes two. I had to go all the way back to the beginning to when I was 5yrs old when we moved in w my mothers new boyfriend Buddy. I had to relive things I thought were long gone behind me. The fact my mother never wanted me set me up to b a constant victim. Victim of all the people that got off on this kind of degrading abuse. The powerlessness it creates! I was just a child when it started, when I first molested by Buddy’s nephew!
After my Grandmother died, the world-wind wedding that ensued, I knew I should have waited, I had just started examining the abuse patterns in my life, but it would take many more years to put it all together. A group of people setting up the 20yr marriage from the start. My mother, my best friend at the time n her family, my ex husband; friends w all of them from the beginning! It was all so horrible and read like some salacious after school special. It seemed so unreal, a delusion they were telling me as people like Weinstein, Epstein, and various others were coming to light. Then there was Ghislaine Maxwell—a woman, finally I thought!
I was still making sense of my Mother being involved. She had managed to turn everything around, smearing it all off on me. Accusing me of all that she had done. The Psychologists they assigned me were ruthless in their assessment that it was all my fault. I had made up my Mother being involved and I was in fact the violent one. I sat most times dumbfounded in what they were telling me, recalling years of abuse starting when I was 5yrs old. So much of it I had overcome, so much of it I had been free of—or so I thought.
I had to remember the beatings, the shaming; mealtimes spent crying unable to stomach the things she forced me to eat. The rancid food she told me there was nothing wrong with; the eating disorder I developed because of it, binging to escape the constant abuse that was always sexual in nature. Being molested by a cousin that continued the abuse and stalking until his death, even moving around the corner from me as they told me I had nothing and was going to b put on the street. A heroin-addict involved in setting up my marriage w his Heroin dealer, pretending he wasn’t a Drug-dealer, a “nice guy,” they all told my exhusband was and continually lied about.
I was always working on myself, desperate to live a quiet, peaceful life, free of the abuse I had suffered growing up and thought that I did, but it was all another horrible lie. Set up by the very people that knew how horrible my childhood was. Sexual predators that continue the abuse, the lies, the gaslighting, to shame and blame me. “If ur Mother doesn’t love you, it must be you!” Judges sneered, viciously ripped my life apart denying me everything I had worked so hard to have. A home, clean bathroom; safety, peace, a place to b free of all the shame and abuse. I had overcome the Eating disorder once I went to college, had worked hard to make money, save, and build a career, but every step of the way, they plotted and schemed to take it all away.
The person helping Epstein was a woman, finally I thought, the secrets and how so often they r denied by women—Mothers in my case. Who believes women r capable of this kind of abuse? I didn’t for so long either. I made excuses with my Grandmother all the time. We both struggled w my Mothers violence, her Drug abuse, her boyfriends; the bullying friends she wanted to b with more than us. The friends she would go w to get into fights, to beat others up like she beat me and assaulted my Grandmother.
I practiced compassion constantly taking the high road as my Grandmother always told me to, not knowing how the violence progressed until it almost killed me. Not knowing my Mother would require more and more to satisfy her ever increasing need for it. The petty cruelties getting worse as the years went by, the need to get more and more people involved. Her constant sabotage in all areas of my life. The grossness of learning she had slept w my ex-husband—once, twice, who knows? She was too busy bragging how she was only 50yrs old—a MILF! She still had no regard for me or the pain it caused me. I was to learn I was just an object, a thing, a toy! “Trash,” is Ghislaine Maxwell called her victims. A dog my Mother would often call me, trying to force me to eat the left overs from the restaurant she worked, feeding it to the dogs. Your an “old dog hard to sell,” she recently yelled. I was still in shock, but was piecing together how she had already sold me—my 20yr marriage all setup. She was once again going to do it. “Go walk the streets,” she told me. I had nothing, she had conspired w my ex-husband all these years to violently rip everything from me—forced to b a Prostitute.
I remember the day she showed up at my Lakehouse, something was sexual between them, but I put it aside, I knew how flirtatious she could b w men, but thought it was just that. She had told me she was leaving her new boyfriend Don, and had no place to go. I remembered all the times she threw me out, but I told her she was welcomed to stay at the Lakehouse. There was something odd going on, but I took the cagey way my exhusband was acting as just not wanting to interfere. I had told him repeatedly how abusive she had been to me, but she was my Mother; deep down I was told repeatedly she loved me. Even self-help books I read often could not bring themselves to question a Mothers love. I struggled to find answers and with my Grandmother gone I was now all alone and very vulnerable, I had no idea how vulnerable.
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